Phantoms of the Past

Chapter Six: Echoes in the Ballroom

As we stumbled down the hallway, my heart raced, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Pain shot through my arm with every step, but I pushed it aside, focusing on the urgency of reaching Mr. Hawthorne's office.

Derek was the first to notice something was off. "What happened to your arm?" he asked, concern etched across his face.

"The chandelier," I replied, my voice flat and breathless. "It fell. That's what."

As he walked beside me he shot me a bewildered glance. "What chandelier?" he asked, clearly thrown off by my vague response. I blinked, suddenly realizing there wasn't a chandelier in that ballroom. My heart skipped a beat, a shiver running down my spine, but I pushed the unsettling thought aside as we rushed through the hotel's dimly lit corridors. When arrived at Hawthorne's office, Hawthorne unlocked the door and looked back at me swiftly, staring at my arm, and concern shifted into alarm.

"Derek, prop her up on the desk," he instructed, his tone urgent as he rifled through his drawers. Before I could protest, Derek effortlessly scooped me up, my legs wrapping around his hips. He lifted me onto the desk like I weighed nothing. My breath caught as his hands pressed against my back and waist, my heart pounding not just from the pain but from the sheer closeness. I caught a glimpse of his serious expression, and in that moment, I felt flustered, my cheeks warming. Hawthorne pulled out bandages and an old sling, laying them on the desk before turning to me. Derek took a step back, hands in his pockets.

"Can you move your arm?" Hawthorne asked gently. I bit my lip, steeling myself for the pain, and tried to shift it. A sharp pain shot through me, and I cried out, my free hand instinctively gripping the edge of the desk.

"No... I can't." I wept. Hawthorne's expression darkened with understanding. Claire rubbed my back to comfort me, she glanced at Madelyn as well.

"It's broken," he said quietly. He worked with careful precision, wrapping my arm and sliding the sling around my shoulder. Despite the pain, I felt a strange sense of comfort from his gentle touch. Once he secured the bandage, he looked at me with a knowing expression. "You saw a chandelier, correct? It was a vision."

My heart raced again, but this time with confusion. "A vision?" I repeated, the weight of his words settling in.

He nodded solemnly. "Vincent uses that particular vision all the time. It's how he died. He inflicts that fear on others, it's his favourite form of torment."

"How do you know that?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. With a heavy sigh, he rolled up his sleeve, revealing a jagged scar along his elbow.

"Because it happened to me," He admitted. "I broke my arm in two places. Had to lie to the doctors, told them I fell on farm equipment." He attempted a chuckle, but the tension in the room remained thick. As I processed the information, I noticed Derek and Madelyn wincing when Hawthorne glanced at the unexplainable cuts on their faces. He moved to clean them up, and Madelyn, ever the drama queen, huffed as she dabbed at the dried blood near her cheek.

"I swear, if this ruins my makeup..." she muttered, and I couldn't help but smile despite the situation. Once everyone was patched up, Hawthorne gathered us around, his demeanour shifting to one of urgency.

"We need a new plan. And this time, we're going in prepared." His tone brooked no argument. Nervous determination filled the room. We nodded, sharing looks of resolve, knowing we couldn't afford another disaster like the one in the ballroom. Hawthorne quickly laid out the details of our new plan, no weird rituals, no ancient symbols, just strategy. We would use Vincent's weaknesses against him, find a way to trap him and drain his power by luring him into the ballroom where his power was the strongest.